


give me hope in the darkness

by imperfectandchaotic



Category: Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: F/M, post film feel fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:51:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectandchaotic/pseuds/imperfectandchaotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a tiny room on the dark ocean, Marta faces all the things from which she has run. </p>
<p>"You're okay." Aaron is reaching up to brush her hair from the back of her neck, and something deep in her chest aches. He presses words into the hair curling behind her ear. "I've got you. I've got you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	give me hope in the darkness

She hasn't slept.

Not since it happened - and especially not since Aaron came barreling back into her life in a flurry of bullets and death.

Adrenaline and panic has kept her standing, kept her eyes wide open in the fleeting hours of dark - and it's not until the darkness is punctuated only by the sound of waves and Aaron's steady breathing from the floor of their very small room, when  _safe_  flickers from nothing into a tiny ember, that Marta allows it to drag her down.

What a terrible idea, that was.

—

Cold.

White. The spark of metal on metal. The squeak of shoes on the floor.

_Screaming._

Red.

Death.

Her heartbeat that roars so loudly she is nearly deaf from it, but still—

the screaming.

The spasm of her desperate fingers burning against rough cloth.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Dark.

—

Her eyes are open but she can't  _see_ —she's not dead, why isn't she dead?—something brushes her hand but Marta shrinks back so fast it may as well have been a convulsion. The pressure appears again; her arms are pinned—

_Get off me!_

—she screams without really meaning to; it rips from her throat but sounds distant to her ears, and then—

Then a voice.

"Hey, hey, shh Doc it's me, you're okay, shh—"

Marta takes a shuddering breath; she's crying, when did that happen?

She closes her eyes and is finally, suddenly aware; Aaron's hands are warm and strong over hers, his arms locking her in a vice grip, his mouth practically moving against the curve of her neck.

And as though from very far away: the ocean.

He is holding her as though he means to take on the most savage of waves and leave her protected, and him, untouched to the ends of time.

A small, choked sound reaches her ears and it dawns on Marta that she's still crying and trembling and frankly, it takes a lot more effort than she has to hold it in.

So she doesn't.

"You're okay." Aaron is reaching up to brush her hair from the back of her neck, and something deep in her chest aches. He presses words into the hair curling behind her ear. "I've got you. I've got you."

She shivers.

Marta turns into him and can practically feel her bones collapse together into a shattered mess. She feels blindly for his hand and threads their fingers together—the small act is still comforting even without the constant threat of death that has done nothing but use daylight to plague them.

Aaron just winds his free hand around her back and tightens his grip.

The hollow of his throat smells of earth and musk and the spray of the sea—is it imbued in his skin, the damp salt? Or are those just her tears drying on him instead? She is transported very sharply back to the yellowed glow of that tiny rented room and that terrible desperation that almost drowned her forever.

Marta's head spins; she concentrates on the steady thrum of Aaron's heartbeat and is soothed and struck all at once by how very safe it makes her feel. Her incredible state of undress—a ratty t shirt and shorts so small they may as well be underwear—leaves her mind as quickly as it arrives.

"Sorry," she gets out finally, her voice scratched and weak. She winces. "I didn't mean to—"

Her breath breaks in a faint gasp as Aaron's hand leaves her back and his fingers brush her cheek, her temple, and slip through her hair.

The lowest part of her spine sings.

His hand just keeps carding over her head and tracing the curve of her ear.

"S'ok," he says, low and a little rough, "Just worried about you."

If Marta were a stronger person she would be able to recognize this moment as one in which she could fall in foolish and desperate love with Aaron Cross, but she's not and this isn't,  _really it's not_ , but that doesn't stop her from folding herself a little tighter around their still tangled fingers.

"Stay?"

He freezes, just for a moment, but the moment is long enough for Marta to wonder if she has just crossed some invisible line.

"Please?"

Finally she summons enough courage to look at him; most of his features are lost in the dark, but there is just enough light to catch his eyes. The tenderness in his expression almost causes her throat to close over with fresh tears. He reaches up to touch her cheek and Marta can't even find shame in the way her heart beats in double time.

"Okay."

Somehow they find enough space on the tiny cot for two—she fits surprisingly well into Aaron's side and reaches across his chest for his left hand; the glass face of his watch reflects moonlight over their neighbouring bare skin but for some reason it doesn't faze her.

Marta lets out a breath that could be a sigh; Aaron's fingers are tangling once again in her hair.

"Go to sleep, Doc."

She tightens her grip on the hand in hers before letting the sound of the waves carry her back into the dark.

It is warm this time.

 


End file.
